


Hooked

by nevercomestheday



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Cheating, Depression, Drinking, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Pre-Canon, Prostitution, References to Depression, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevercomestheday/pseuds/nevercomestheday
Summary: "We've come this far."





	

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY A FIC! I've missed writing.
> 
> Characters belong to Quentin Tarantino.

The last time Eddie saw Vic, he had a half-finished cigarette between his lips and a playful smirk on his face. He waved goodbye to Eddie, more than the usual disappearing act he pulled most mornings, and forgot to lock the door on the way out.

 

Eddie was still basking in the hazy afterglow when he got the call from Joe two hours later.

 

The whole world changed that day, and now as Eddie sits on the edge of his desk chair, teeth clenched and focus lost, he tries in vain to think of literally anything else.

 

He goes home early despite getting almost no work done at all. His phone rings incessantly the whole drive home, and though part of his brain knows it’s probably important, he can’t bring himself to care at all.

 

Everything on TV reminds him of Vic. Can’t watch Miami Vice without remembering Vic’s lame ass Halloween costume last year. Can’t watch M*A*S*H* without hearing Vic’s laughter echo through his head. And heaven forbid he accidentally switch on a cop show or a lawyer drama. 

 

So Eddie settles for a rerun of The Price Is Right, not that he’s paying it much attention. By the time Bob Barker has shouted “Come on dowwwwwwwwwwwn,” Eddie’s halfway through a beer.

 

Before long he’s drunk and muttering to himself about bad luck. 

 

“Why’d did it havta be Vic?” he slurs. “Couldn’ta been any’a the other boys Daddy uses, nooooo. Hadda be Vic. Hadda be the only one I fuggin’ give a rat’s ass about. Hadda be  _ my  _ Vic.” He knocks back the rest of his seventh beer (or is it eighth? It’s so hard to keep track) and groans.

 

Eddie is almost asleep when an ad for a phone sex line casts a bright pink glow on the couch.

 

“Heh… Not quite that pathetic yet…” he hiccups, and with that, his eyes start to close.

 

-

It’s been nearly six months and Eddie is losing his mind. He hasn’t been touched by another human being in what feels like forever.

Part of him feels funny about the whole thing. If he wants to get some, he should have no problem doing so. There’s just something stopping him, something that’s been holding him back from hitting on chicks at the bar he now so rarely frequents. 

 

It’s becoming unbearable for him now, though, and the strange faithfulness gives way to his needs. He rationalizes it though- if Eddie were the one behind bars, he doesn’t think Vic would be having this moral debate. 

 

Eddie finally drags his sorry ass out to a bar downtown. He even bothered to put on clean clothes and cologne tonight, which is something he’s struggled with lately. It’s weird for someone who’s usually very well put together, and he’s sure people have noticed. It’s almost a shame he doesn’t care.

 

He tries his luck flirting with a few pretty girls at the bar, but no one seems interested. It doesn’t make any sense; Eddie used to be such a smooth talker. He could get girls to go home with him like nothing… although, now that he thinks about it, he was always with Vic- who, let’s face it, is far more charming. 

 

He’s too drunk to drive home by 11 and by then, most of the girls in the bar have moved out of his way. One woman is sitting two barstools down from him though, and through the beer goggles, Eddie sees a final opportunity.

 

Finally, a bite! The girl is smiling, leaning in, laughing at every stupid line Eddie shoots at her. He invites her back to his place with a spring in his stumble.

 

After fumbling with the keys and tripping over his own welcome mat, Eddie lets himself and his date inside. He leans down to kiss her when she stops him gently.

“So, my rate is $100 an hour, or $500 for the rest of the night,” she says.

 

What the fuck. She’s a hooker. No wonder she was so interested. 

 

Eddie is drunk enough to be convinced by the little voice in his head. 

 

“We’ve come this far.”

 

So he comes a little further.

 

-

 

Every inch of Eddie’s skin is crawling when he wakes up. The overwhelming feeling of being dirty drowns out the hangover, so his first move is for the toilet, his second for the shower. 

He scrubs himself under hot water with every soap and shampoo he has, but he still feels the thick, oily guilt stuck to his skin. 

 

It’s not that she was a prostitute. Oh, that’s nothing for Eddie. He’s been with his fair share. This… This is new. This is about Vic, as much as Eddie hates to admit it.

 

After an hour of futile scrubbing and washing and rinsing, Eddie resigns to his bedroom. He drinks a Gatorade while he gets dressed in yet another pair of sweats and a t shirt, and as soon as the drink is down, so is Eddie.

 

He watches the ceiling lower itself onto him, the weight of his transgression pushing down on him. It’s almost as heavy as the confusion, which itself is very close to the weight of his denial.

 

Eddie knows he hasn’t done anything wrong. He never promised anything to Vic. They’ve never been anything but best friends; anything else that happens is something that’s never discussed. Those nights and afternoons and lazy, fogged-out mornings are something to keep to oneself.

 

Yet, here he is, feeling the same way he felt the first time he cheated on a girlfriend with Vic back in high school. Sick. Guilty. Filthy. Cruel.

 

_ Poor Vic is in prison for five to seven, all for you, and this is what you do to him? You sleep with some hooker? You absolute monster. You piece of shit. How could you do that to him? _

 

_ But Vic is probably… No. Don’t even think of it. He’s probably nothing. _

 

The shouting match roaring in Eddie’s mind is interrupted by a phone call. 

 

“Where the fuck are you? It’s Tuesday, Eddie. You’d better get your ass down here or I’m gonna be very upset.” Joe’s raspy growl pulls Eddie back down to earth.

 

He runs a comb through his hair and pulls on his sneakers, grabbing a water bottle on the way out. As much as Eddie hopes work will distract him from the guilt and the confusion, he knows it can’t.

  
After all, work is the whole reason Vic is gone in the first place.


End file.
